


We Can't Afford to Be Afraid of What We Fear

by annathaema (moony)



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Coming Out, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Estranged Parents, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mother-Son Relationship, Parent-Child Relationship, Post-Stanley Cup, Suzanne Tries Y'all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-13 08:59:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13567203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moony/pseuds/annathaema
Summary: "Dicky?""Hi, Mama."





	We Can't Afford to Be Afraid of What We Fear

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in three days and it has not been beta'd. I apologize for any weird errors, formatting issues, timeline mishaps, and canon slip-ups. I did my best.
> 
> Thanks to Hillary for the initial read when it was just a few straggled paragraphs and plot assistance when it looked like it was gonna get bigger, and Miranda for the hand-holding and encouragement. :)
> 
> This was heavily influenced by Armistead Maupin's 'Letter To Mama' from his Tales of the City series. This is important queer history and you owe it to yourself to read it.
> 
> http://armisteadmaupin.com/blog/?p=574
> 
> Title from, again, U2.

****

 

**Mama: are you excited!**

**Mama: oh my gosh I can't stop walking around the house in circles!**

**Mama: your daddy says he's gonna tie lead weights to my shoes**

 

**Me: We just got to the arena.**

**Me: We're in the friends and family section**

**Me: you might see us on TV!**

 

**Mama: we'll be watching**

**Mama: your daddy's already had two beers**

**Mama: he's ready!**

 

**Me: Oh lord**

**Me: Don't let him near the grill again**

**Me: It took weeks for his eyebrows to grow back**

 

**Mama: don't worry I won't**

 

**Me: Ok we're going in! I probably won't answer texts much!**

**Me: Too busy cheering!**

 

**Mama: have fun!!!**

**\--**

**Mama: go Jack!**

\--

**Mama: oh i bet it's loud! Since y'all are so close to the ice we spotted your friend crappy**

**Mama: me and your daddy just about had a heart attack!**

**Mama: are y'all out on the ice already???**

**Mama: Ignore me! Have fun!! GO FALCS!!!!!**

\--

It is the second-greatest kiss of Eric's life.

\--

They're a haggard bunch, all of them huddled in front of Jack's TV, nursing cups of coffee and the pitcher of bloody Marys that Eric is putting together in the kitchen. He's just as hungover as they are and he barely got a wink of sleep (thanks Jack), but that doesn't mean he can't be a good host in Jack's absence.

"Bits!" Shitty's voice cuts right through the headache pulsing behind Eric's left eye. "Your boy's on in like five. Get your perky buns over here!"

"Hush, oh god, would you _shut your mouth_ ," says Eric, lurching down to the couch and plunking the pitcher on the coffee table before sinking into the cushions between Shitty and something in a blanket burrito that might be Ransom. Lardo's sitting with her legs folded on the pool table, rolling two cue balls in her tiny hand like David Bowie, and it's when Eric has to tear his eyes away that he realizes he might still a little drunk.

"Lardo," he says, just short of a whine. "Please. You're damaging the brain cells I didn't manage to kill last night."

Lardo grins but drops the balls into the side pocket. "Sorry, Bits."

_Coming up next on ABC 6 Sports: We go live to the Falconers press conference._

"Oh lord," he says, twisting and burying his face against Shitty's shoulder. "They're all going to be ruthless."

Shitty loops an arm around Eric's shoulders. "Don't freak out, Bits," he says. "Come on. Didn't Jack say it was all your idea?"

"Yes, but that doesn't mean it was a _good_ idea." Something pokes Eric in the back of the head. "What-"

Lardo brandishes a pool cue with a warning expression. "Stop that," she says. "You know it was a good idea, your reasons were completely valid, and you didn't do anything wrong. And I know you _know_ that."

Eric sighs. "Yes, I know that," he says. "And I don't regret it. I'm just worried about what this is doing to Jack."

Shitty picks up the remote. "Well, we're all gonna find out in about thirty seconds," he says, turning the volume up.

_Thank you all for coming. My name is Georgia Martin and I'm the assistant general manager of the Providence Falconers. As you can see, I'm with our Stanley Cup winners-_

George pauses for a spontaneous cheer from the reporters. Shitty and Lardo make a few respectfully-soft hooting noises and Ransom manages to feebly hold up one hand, curled in a fist.

"Yay," he whimpers.

On TV the Falconers all grin at each other, embarrassed by the applause but clearly still giddy. Thirdy has a pen in his hand that he keeps clicking, and Poots is practically vibrating in his seat next to Snowy. If any of them are hungover they're hiding it very well.

Eric doesn't linger on any of them, though. Jack sits next to George, Marty on his other side. He's got his hands clasped on the table in front of him, staring at his bottle of water. Eric can see the white of his knuckles and the clench of his jaw, and his own hands curl into Ransom's blanket. Shitty tightens his grip on Eric's shoulder.

"He's got this," he whispers into Eric's ear, low enough that not even Lardo can hear. "It's gonna be ok, Bits."

Eric can't respond, but he leans against Shitty and puts his head on his shoulder.

"You're right," he says. "He's got this."

_Tim, we'll start with you._

_Thanks. Jack-_

_-he's my boyfriend._

Eric does not have to look away from the television to know he is being stared at.

_Is this you coming out, then?_

_I kissed a man on live television, so. Apparently?_

Shitty whimpers. "Would you just listen to Our Lady of Perpetual Sass," he says, squeezing Eric closer to his side. "Bits, I'm so proud of your young fella."

"He's two years older than you."

"Shh!"

_Was this a planned stunt?_

_I'm pretty sure that coming out as bisexual as an athlete in an environment hostile toward the LGBT community would be a really stupid thing to do if it were only a stunt, considering that some would think it'd be a career-ending move - just ask Michael Sam. I just wanted to celebrate with my boyfriend after doing something I've wanted to do since I was five. It is absolutely no different than if I'd kissed my girlfriend or my wife. You should be talking to the rest of the team about this win of ours, but instead you're forcing me to talk about something that has nothing to do with hockey._

"This is some goddamn character growth," says Ransom.

"You see how he slid that ol' _bisexual_ in there. He can be a smooth motherfucker when he wants to be."

"For fuck's sake, _shh_!"

_You're the first gay player in the NHL. Do you think you can handle it?_

_First, I am_ not _the first gay - and I'm bisexual, as I said - player in the NHL. It is statistically impossible that I am the only one. I_ am _the first to_ come out _though, and I am of course understandably nervous about it but it's too late now, and I don't regret it. I won't be alone for very long. As for that not so veiled reference to the draft - bless your heart._

"NO."

"HE DID NOT."

Eric sinks deeper into the couch. He can't help but grin against his knees.

_Hi, Jack._

_Hi Hillary, nice to see you._

_So, your boyfriend's pretty cute._

_Yeah, I think so too._

Hangovers and neighbors be damned, the others let out nearly deafening whoops.

_Can you tell us about him?_

_I'd rather not, though he did say I could say one thing._

_What's that?_

Jack grins suddenly, a bright and sincere thing, and Eric is relieved to see that his hands have relaxed and he's making eye contact with people around the room. Even Marty's leaning forward a little in his seat, giving Jack a curious look as he leans into the mic.

 _Pecan_.

Shitty erupts in laughter and hauls Eric into his lap for noogies. "I love you," he says, kissing whatever part of Eric's face he can reach. "You are a beautiful motherfucker and if Jack doesn't lock you down I will."

Eric can barely wriggle free, he's laughing too hard. "What- what about- _stop_ \- what about Lardo?"

Lardo appears over Shitty's shoulder, pool cue hooked behind her head and her arms draped over it like a scarecrow. "I'm open to negotiations."

Eric shrieks and flails his limbs like an octopus. "Stop, stop - we're missing the rest!"

"You're not missing anything," says Holster. "Tater's telling the potato story again."

"That has nothing to do with-" Eric sighs. "He's precious like a baby sloth but I do not understand that boy."

"Your boy, though." Holster reaches over and gives Eric's foot a squeeze. "Is that what victory booty does to him because wow, Bits. Wow."

 _"Okay_ ," says Eric, leaping away from them. "I am going to go listen to the rest of this press conference in the kitchen and make breakfast and none of you are going to bother me for at least an hour." He wraps Jack's shirt around himself and realizes, much too late, that other than that he's wearing nothing but underpants. He squeaks and bounds toward the bedroom.

"Those are some great hickies on your thighs, Bits!"

" _Oh, Lord_."

\--

"Bits?" Jack comes through the front door, hangs up his keys and kicks off his shoes. "You here?"

"Yes!" Eric sits up from where he'd been lying on the couch. The living room is more or less clean, though Jack is probably going to have to call Simone for a good scrub. "Sorry, I was deep into Neko Atsume."

Jack comes over and kisses the top of Eric's head. He knows Eric loves that, and Eric knows _Jack_ knows, which is pretty great. "That's the Japanese one with the little cats. Right?"

"Very good." Eric puts his phone aside. "You were great, sweetheart." He lets Jack lift up his legs and slide under them to sit on the couch with them in his lap. He rests his big, warm hands on Eric's socked feet. Eric wiggles his toes. "Everyone thought so."

"Where are they?"

"Diner. I said we'd meet 'em there unless you were tired. Which from the looks of it, you are." Eric palms his face. "Why don't we just go back to bed, hm?"

Jack nods. "Yeah," he says. "It's been a long day."

Eric grins. "It's not even one. But we didn't exactly sleep last night-" he coughs and Jack smirks. "Hush your face and come to bed."

Jack moves like gravity's working against him, like all the energy Jack had earlier during the presser has drained out of him completely, leaving him lurching around the room like a sleepy bear, heavy and depleted. Eric guides him through getting out of his clothes and into bed, and once Jack is arranged Eric climbs in with him and scoots right up into Jack's space. Jack immediately curls his arm around Eric from behind, hand flat against his belly.

"I did okay?" asks Jack in a soft voice. Eric covers Jack's hand with his own.

"You did, sugar." Eric smiles even though Jack can't see it. "Shitty said - oh, lord - he said he'd be jerking off to your speech for weeks."

"That's actually kind of flattering." Jack yawns, sticks his nose in Eric's hair. "It was really hard not to talk about you."

Eric sighs. "I'm surprised someone hasn't IDed me by now, to be honest, but it'd be nice to have a little calm before the storm. I don't mind you talking about me, though, if you want." He smiles.

They go silent, and after a minute Eric thinks Jack has fallen asleep. He closes his eyes and breathes out slow, preparing to run through Beyoncé lyrics in his head - his preferred method of winding down for sleep.

"Have you heard from them?"

Jack's voice is so quiet that Eric's almost certain he'd imagined it. Then: "Bits?"

"Yeah," he says. "They called."

"Did you talk to them?"

Eric makes a face. "No."

Jack scratches Eric's belly. "You can tell me why if you want. You don't have to."

"I don't know," says Eric. He doesn't, he really doesn't. He'd seen his mother's name on his phone - Shitty'd handed it to him once he'd emerged from the bedroom that morning - and promptly cleared the notification. He hasn't checked his texts at all, even though it's driving him crazy. He wants to know what his mother has to say but at the same time he really, really doesn't. He doesn't know what to do.

"I'm afraid I just torpedoed my relationship with my parents," Eric whispers. "But if I don't talk to them, they can't tell me how disappointed they are and everything's fine."

"You don't know that they're disappointed." Jack manhandles Eric until he can look him in the eye. "Maybe they'd surprise you."

Eric says nothing, he doesn't know what to say. Jack kisses him where his neck curves into his shoulder and Eric understands that he doesn't really need to say anything at all.

"I came out to my dad while we were having a fight," says Jack. He speaks right into Eric's ear, and his voice rolls like thunder through Eric's body. "I think I was fifteen. I don't even remember what the fight was about. I just yelled something about Kent and my dad stared at me for a long time."

"What did he do?" Eric whispers. He feels Jack take a deep breath. "Jack?"

"Nothing," says Jack on the exhale. "Nothing bad, I mean. He was weird for about a day and then he told me that it wasn't that Kent was a guy but instead that Kent was _Kent_."

Eric laughs. "Your daddy, I swear."

"We got along better after that," Jack says. "I wasn't lying to them anymore and they weren't hurting me without knowing it. It didn't make all the pressure go away, um, obviously, but it made it a little easier to handle. For a while."

"For a while," says Eric softly. "You're fine, Jack. You're just fine."

"I am," says Jack. Eric can feel his smile. "So are you, no matter what happens with your parents."

"What do you think I should do?"

"I think it'd be worth the risk to talk to them. I think you'll regret it if you don't - even if it goes wrong."

Eric sighs. "Yeah, I think so too." He picks up his phone and slides out of bed. Jack makes an unhappy noise. "Sorry, sweetpea," says Eric, pecking him on the temple. "Now that you put the bug in my ear I'm gonna have to call 'em now or else I'm never gonna calm down."

"Mm," Jack reaches out and grabs his hand. "I can tell you're nervous," he says. "Your accent."

"You hush up about my accent," says Eric. "Take your nap. I'll come in when I'm done."

"Good luck, Bud."

Eric kisses Jack's hand before letting go, sliding into a pair of shorts and leaving Jack to sleep, shutting the door behind him. He beelines for the kitchen, because he knows he's not going to be able to keep still through this conversation. He puts his earbuds in and tells Siri, after some hesitation, to call his mother. He shoves his phone in his pocket and starts pulling butter out of the fridge.

"Dicky?"

"Hi, Mama."

Silence.

"Mama, I'm sorry this is how you found out," he says. "But I don't regret it."

"It's not a joke?" His mother sounds small and far away. "It's not some hockey thing?"

"No, Mama." Eric sighs. "Jack's my boyfriend. We've been dating for over a year."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Mama-" Eric sighs. "I wanted to. I tried. I almost did, lots of times."

"So I had to find out from TV?"

"I'm sorry." He is, he's genuinely sorry. "But that moment was ours and I would do it again in a heartbeat. He worked so hard for that Cup and we worked so hard to make it work, and it's time we get to enjoy it without having to hide."

"Are you sure you're not just-" Eric can sense her hunting for the right words. "I read something about boarding schools in England, and-"

"Lord, Mama. I'm pretty sure I'm gay, alright? I've known since I was _twelve_. I'm really, really gay."

"How could you know that!" His mother's getting a little hysterical and Eric worries her voice will become so shrill and twangy that it'll wake up Jack. He stops what he's doing and lets himself out onto the balcony. It's not so high up that he feels sick but high enough that he can see the water, which is nice. "You were just a baby."

"Yes, well. Your baby had a crush on Sylar. Do you think I watched that show for the plot?"

"Eric, please," she says. She's definitely hysterical. "Listen, you should come home for a while. We can talk about it. Your daddy's got stuff to say too, and we think maybe you could talk to the rest of the family."

It takes every ounce of resolve Eric has in his body not to cave at the desperation in her voice. "I don't think that would be a good idea," he says in a small voice.

"You don't want to come home?"

"Not if it means getting jumped on by everyone who's going to try and shove me back into a closet, no."

"That's not what I said-"

"Tell me that wouldn't happen. Tell me that if I came home all y'all wouldn't try and convince me to leave my boyfriend and stay in Georgia, where guys like me end up tied to fences and left to _die_."

"Dicky! We wouldn't let that happen!" She's openly crying now. "Dicky, please. Come home and let's talk about it."

"Nothing we could say to each other can't be said over the phone." Eric swallows hard. "And if you can't say anything else to me, then I need to go. Jack's napping and I don't want us yelling at each other to wake him up."

His mother is silent for a long moment. "Tell Jack congratulations," she says at last. "I'm glad he did it."

"He did it." Eric sags against the railing. "I'll tell him." He pauses. "Bye, Mama."

"Dicky-"

He ends the call. He has to, because the tears are coming and he cannot, will not, let her hear him cry. He stumbles back inside and down the hall to the bedroom and climbs into bed, wraps himself around Jack like a barnacle.

"Whuzza?" Jack's arms come up around him. "Bits? Hey, what-" He presses a kiss to the side of Eric's head, and Eric just melts. He sags into Jack, pushes his face into his neck and that's when Eric lets himself go.

"Aw, shit." Jack hugs him tight, strokes his hair. "Didn't go so well?"

"She tried to get me to come down for an _intervention_ ," he says, not even trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice. "She thought I was _confused_ , or that we were like damn boarding school students messin' around."

"Yikes." Jack pushes the hair away from Eric's forehead and kisses him there. "That sounds like pretty standard denial, though."

"Yeah." Eric sniffles and scrubs at his eyes with his hand. "I don't even know if Coach was there. She didn't say anything and I didn't ask. If he was there he didn't want to talk to me."

"Maybe he doesn't know what to say."

"It's easy. 'Hey son, I'm proud of you and I love you.' I mean, there's a first time for everything, right?" Eric frowns. "He's never once come to see me play. He never came to any of my competitions. The only thing he's ever been there for was when he tried to make me play football and I was a disappointment."

"Hey." Jack's tone is sharp; it makes Eric look up at him in confusion. Jack's almost never annoyed with him. "Whatever your dad expected of you when you were little has nothing to do with you, okay?" Jack gives him a hard look. "I have spent two and a half decades learning that and you need to learn it, too."

Eric has to kiss him. "God, I love you," he says, beaming. "I'm so proud of you, dragging those reporters like that."

"You're changing the subject."

"Any chance you're going to let me get away with it?" Eric skates his hands up Jack's sides. "Hm?"

"Nope." Jack catches him by the wrists and pulls them away. "Bits, you're not a disappointment. Not then and not now. You just came out to the world on national TV. You're the bravest person I know."

Eric might cry again, so he tucks his head under Jack's chin so he can't see his face. "You did the same thing, you know," he says. "You're my hero."

Jack chuckles. "We all know who your real hero is, Bits. It's okay."

"You're my other hero? Runner up. Hero 2.0?" Eric palms Jack's face. "How about this: we forget about the press and parents and everything else and just make out for a few hours. Sound good?"

"Hm." Jack pretends to think. "Suppose that's all right."

"Oh, if it's just all right." Eric kisses him.

"We're fine," he murmurs. "We're just fine."

Jack laughs and pulls Eric close.

\--

Weeks pass and the fuss and holler dies down quicker than Eric had expected. Deadspin's had their fun with what little gossip about Jack and Eric that they could unearth, and TMZ is bored with paparazzi shots of them shopping at Costco and gassing up the Audi. And since the Stanley Cup two more NHL players and a San Francisco Giant have also come out, taking some of the focus off and allowing them both to breathe a little easier. Eric lets himself think that maybe it's safe to relax and enjoy their new freedom.

Eric's mother calls on a Thursday in late July.

He doesn't pick up; he's on his way back from Trader Joe's and he doesn't like to talk and drive at the same time. Once he's home and the groceries are put away, he takes a deep breath and calls her back.

"Sorry, Mama," he says, in lieu of a standard - and more polite, but he's already agitated so manners are going to be a struggle during this conversation - greeting. "I was on the road."

"It's okay," she says. She sounds tired. "What are you, um. Up to?"

It's so awkward. Eric has never been awkward with his mother, not once. "Groceries. I'm making ratatouille."

"That sounds nice," she says, and there's an awful silence that Eric can't stand. He gets that she's trying, that this is some kind of olive branch, but he doesn't like it. He thinks he'd rather she not call him at all, not until she's had a good long think about things and she's not this uncomfortable stranger on the phone.

"Why are you calling?" he asks. "Is Coach okay? Moomaw?"

"They're fine. I just- I wanted to talk to you. I've never-" He knows what she's not saying: _I've never gone this long without talking to you before._ Eric's thinking the same thing, but that doesn't get her off the hook.

"Well," he says. "You're talking to me." He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Sorry, Mama. I miss you too."

"What, um. What did you do today?" she asks. Eric feels a sudden surge of affection for her; she's trying _so_ hard, and he has to acknowledge that. He loves her too much not to give her something to go on.

"A lot," he says. "Jack had a photo shoot this morning so he was up early. It's in New York so he'll be gone until late. He hates photo shoots and ratatouille is one of his favorites so I figured I'd surprise him."

His mother hums. "You've been together a long time, huh?"

Eric puts the phone on speaker and sets it by the blender so that he can start pulling out ingredients and everything else he needs. "Since Jack graduated," he says. "He ran across campus and kissed me before he left."

"You were- together when he was here?"

"Um." Eric pauses with a zucchini in his hand. "Yeah, I mean. Sort of? We weren't official until August but we, uh, figured out some stuff when he came down to visit."

She hums again. "He didn't sleep in the guest room at all, did he."

Eric makes a face. "No he did not," he says, cringing.

"Well." His mother clucks her tongue. "You are all grown up now. Not my little Dicky anymore."

"You're right," he says. "I'm all grown up, and I've changed a lot - but that doesn't mean I'm not the same in all the ways you loved before." He might sound a little desperate; he's glad no one can see him. "You can still love me now."

"Dicky, of _course_ I love you." She sounds exasperated. "Nothing changes that. I just want to understand."

"What's to understand?" Eric gets out the cutting board and one of the fancy knives Jack got him as a _just because_ present. "I'm gay."

"I know, but _why_?"

Eric rolls his eyes. "Why do you have blond hair? Why is dad tall? Why does Jack have blue eyes? It's just how I turned out. Why is this such a difficult concept?"

His mother sighs. "I just miss you. I miss my Dicky."

"I'm still here," he whispers. He hesitates before cutting vegetables, to see if he's going to cry. It doesn't seem like he is yet, so he goes ahead and gets started on the eggplant. "I'm right here."

"One thing's changed," she says. "You're _dating Bad Bob's son_."

He bursts out laughing, and it feels so good. "He's a really nice guy," he says. "Jack's mom is great, too."

"Oh, is she as beautiful in real life as she was in _Cinder_?"

"Lord, she's beautiful even when she hasn't brushed her hair and she's wearing an old Penguins t-shirt with holes and pizza stains on the front." He grins. "We went up there after the Cup. Their house is so nice, Mama."

"Oh," she says. "Jack lives downtown?"

"Yes, not too far from the arena. It's a really tall building, we're on the 11th floor." He's got the eggplant cut, he moves on to the peppers. "I'm not crazy about parking in the garage because the spaces are _so small_ , so we really only use the car when we're going to Boston, and even then we park in Quincy and take the T in-" He's babbling, and he knows it, but he can't stop. He can't take the silences.

"It sounds like you've moved in for good," she interrupts softly. "You really aren't coming back."

Eric leans against the counter with both hands on the marble top. "I want to visit," he says. "Once I'm sure you're not gonna ambush me with Pastor Donald and the whole congregation."

"Dicky, that isn't fair-"

"It's not fair. _To me_." He straightens up and picks up the knife again. "Do you know how happy I am? Especially now that I don't have to pretend that Jack is just my _very good friend_? I can have a normal relationship like everyone else gets to. Do you even know what that means to me?"

She doesn't say anything, and Eric doesn't expect her to. "I have to go, Mama. I need to get this in the oven and then take a shower before Jack gets home."

"Okay." She sounds so small. "I love you."

"I love you too, Mama. Tell Coach I said hi." _If he cares_ , he doesn't add. "Maybe this year he can make it to a game."

"We'll see," is all she says. "Let me know how the ratatouille turns out?

"I'll send you a picture. Bye, Mama."

"Bye, Dicky."

He hangs up first, sinks to the floor and leans back against the cabinets. He really should be working on dinner but he needs a moment to sit and let the conversation pass through him, until he stops shaking and can get up and shake it off like T-Swift and get back to slicing peppers.

\--

Several hours later finds Bitty sitting in front the TV and _The Voice_ , reading Tumblr on his phone and absently sipping at a glass of Moscato Jack's parents had brought. He looks up when he hears Jack letting himself in. "Hey, honey!" he calls out as he mutes the TV. "In here!"

"Smells fantastic, Bits," says Jack. He's already out of his suit jacket, tossing it over the back of the couch and pulling at the buttons of his dress shirt. "It's still pretty hot out there."

"Mmm, yeah - it's great. I was out on the balcony a little while ago. There's lemonade in the fridge." He stretches up and Jack meets him halfway for a kiss. "How was the shoot?"

"Fine." He kisses Eric's hand and lets go, making his way to the kitchen. "I wore fancy clothes and stood around a lot."

"That's what your mom said when I asked her about modeling." He hears Jack crack into a La Croix. "Lots of standing, weird poses, weird clothes, weird photographers."

"Yeah." Jack comes over and sits down beside him, tugging Eric's feet into his lap. "I went with her a couple of times. I thought it would be cool, but it was like one of Crooker's lectures. I don't think you'll ever have him, he teaches Modern Capitalism."

"Oh, good lord, that sounds awful." Eric tosses his phone aside and wriggles until he's in Jack's lap. "And if you think it was boring then I don't know how anyone survived."

"I passed that class." Jack smirks. "I got an A in boring." He kisses Eric's temple. "Anything exciting happen while I was gone?"

"Mama called," says Eric, mumbling against Jack's shoulder.

"How was that?"

Eric sighs. "Same as usual. She doesn't get it, she still thinks it's something they did to make me gay, and she's still trying to get me to come down there. I haven't heard _anything_ from Coach, so. There's that, too."

Jack curls around him, the way he does when he's feeling especially protective. "I wish I could fix it," he says. "I wish there was something I could say to make her understand."

Eric grunts. "She's gonna have to come around on her own," he says. "Even you can't out-stubborn a Southern woman."

"You take after her _so much_."

"You know, I don't have to take this." Eric pulls back and grins at him. "You can eat your ratatouille all by your lonesome."

Jack blinks. "You made ratatouille?" he asks. "Really?"

Eric nods. "Your mom gave me your- whoa!" Before he knows what's happening he's hoisted into the air in Jack's arms. "What!"

"How long do we have," asks Jack. He has the same intense expression he gets before a game. "Before it's done."

Eric flails a little. "Another half an hour?"

Jack adjusts his grip. "I can work with that," he says, heading down the hall to the bedroom. Eric meeps and holds on to Jack tight.

"Jack, you are not serious. Jack, it's going to _burn_. Jack!"

Jack kicks the door shut behind them.

\--

In late August Eric goes back to Samwell. It's not a difficult a separation as it normally is; the distance might be physical but after spending the summer together and after coming out they've never been closer, and even though it'll be all Skype and texts and weekends for the next year, Eric's confident that they'll be just fine.

"Bitty!" Chowder's already at the house, and Eric finds himself caught up in a bone-crushing, teal-colored bear hug. "You're back!"

"Chowder, sweetheart, let me breathe!" Eric slithers free. "Are you the only one here?"

"Dex is here, but I don't know where he is. He might be up in Lardo's ro- I mean, his room." Chowder's face suddenly falls, and Eric reaches up and ruffles his hair.

"None of that face," he says, poking Chowder in the cheek. "We're gonna have a great year. And almost everybody's in Boston anyway, so it's not like we won't see them. They've already said they'll go to as many of our home games as possible."

"I know," says Chowder. He still looks sad. "It's still so weird, though."

"It is," Eric says, nodding. "It was weird when Jack and Shitty left and we survived that. We'll survive this. It's going to be okay, Chowder. I promise."

Chowder sighs, then suddenly perks up. "Dude, you got to touch the Stanley Cup!" he yells, jumping up and down. "That's so  _cool_!"

Eric laughs. "It's a lot smaller than you'd think! I was surprised, even though I've seen pictures." He shoves Chowder toward the kitchen. "Listen, I think some Nanaimo bars would be great to welcome everyone back. Want to help?"

"Yep!"

Chowder might be excitable, but he's good in the kitchen. Eric is subtly trying to teach him as many relatively easy dinners he can make on his own; he is _not_ sending this boy out into the world not knowing how to feed himself. He's got Chowder mixing butter and cocoa powder in the double boiler when his phone buzzes in his back pocket. For some reason he thinks he knows who it is before he looks, and when he does he's not surprised to be right.

**Mama: are you back at school?**

It takes him a moment to respond.

**Me: just got here. Making Nanaimo bars for the team.**

 

**Mama: have you even unpacked yet?**

God, she knows him so well.

**Me: I will when these go in to chill.**

 

**Mama: did Jack bring you to school?**

 

**Me: Yes. We drove up after he finished practice.**

He sets his phone aside. "Chowder, darlin'. You're stirring, not a hurricane forming over the sea."

"Sorry! Sorry. I wanted to make sure there aren't any lumps?"

Eric smiles. "That's great! Looks good. We can add the egg now." He takes over for this part but explains to Chowder very clearly how to mix the egg in without accidentally cooking it. His phone buzzes again, but it's not until he sets Chowder to mix in the graham crackers that he's able to look.

**Mama: that was nice of him.**

Eric sighs.

**Me: He's a good boyfriend.**

 

**Mama: does he do a lot of stuff for you?**

 

**Me: What's that supposed to mean?**

He's ready to throw his phone into the batter. "Okay," he says. "This is the crust, so get that pan over there and we'll put it in there first.

The phone chimes again, and Eric feels like he shows incredible restraint not picking it up immediately. He shows Chowder how to get the crust all around the bottom of the pan before getting him started on the second layer. "Sorry, honey," he says, putting the bowl in Chowder's hands. "I haven't unpacked the mixer yet, so you'll have to work those arms."

"I can do it!" says Chowder. "I've got this."

Once Chowder gets started, Eric gets a water out of the fridge and pulls up the newest text.

**Mama: you talk a lot about it is all. I guess it just make sense**

 

**Me: What makes sense?**

Eric knows where the conversation is going, and he really wishes he could leave the kitchen or kick Chowder out, but neither of those things are options. He braces himself.

**Mama: it just makes sense that he'd take care of everything**

 

**Me: Are you kidding?**

"Bitty?"

Eric looks up from his phone and hopes he doesn't look as furious as he is. "Yes?"

Chowder looks worried. "You okay?"

"I'm fine! How's it coming along?" He peers into the bowl. "That is excellent work! Now we spread it over the crust, like this." He purposefully sets his phone down on the other side of the room before he helps Chowder finish the second layer. "Now, pop that in the fridge and it'll chill for a little while. Meet me back here in half an hour? I'm going to go unpack a bit."

"Okay!" Chowder salutes and scampers off, and Eric hopes Chowder _never_ grows out of the eager puppy phase. The world could use more pure joy.

Once upstairs, Eric shuts his door and breathes out, long and slow. He checks his phone.

**Mama: don't talk to me like that.**

**Mama: i'm worried about you being a kept man!!**

**Mama: i haven't told moomaw and I do not want to explain that to her!!**

Eric fumbles, ready to call Jack. _Kept man_. She's been watching period dramas on Netflix again. He stops however, with his thumb hovering over Jack's name. He _can't_ keep doing this, relying on Jack to hold his hand through this whole stupid thing with his parents. Eric loves the support, but he has to do some of this on his own. It's his responsibility.

**Me: I am not explaining my relationship to you. If Jack were a rich woman you'd be congratulating me on a nice catch and planning the wedding. You're only worked up about it 'cause he's a man.**

 

**Mama: that's not true. I'm JUST WORRIED**

 

**Me: Why?**

 

**Mama: he's really famous!**

 

**Me: So what's that got to do with anything?**

 

**Mama: i just thought maybe he'd date models or something**

Eric stares at his phone. He knows she didn't mean it like that. He _knows_ she didn't, she's not malicious, but it doesn't even occur to her how it might sound to him. Not even once.

He's not even angry now, he's just worn out. After two months of awkward phone calls or avoiding her entirely, he's so tired.

And still no word from Coach.

**Me: I have to go.**

**Me: I'm unpacking so I can finish cooking with Chowder.**

**Me: I'll text you later.**

He pockets his phone and goes downstairs, his boxes untouched. He finds a Coke in the fridge and heads out to the porch, picking out a place with the fewest ants before sitting down. It's still too early for most of the students to come back, too close to summer to really feel like school is starting up again. Eric holds the Coke to the side of his neck; the air is heavy and it feels like it might storm later. It could almost be Georgia, Eric thinks, were it not for Samwell's deep woodsy (and weedy, if he's honest) smell instead of cedar and honeysuckle, thick in the air like molasses. He closes his eyes and inhales. Yeah, not Georgia.

Eric feels surprisingly okay. Not as broken up as he'd thought he might be. It's not like she does this all the time. Sometimes they have perfectly civil, even enjoyable conversations, though they are pretty brief these days and not as frequent as they used to be. And then sometimes she comes up with things and not once does she think they might be hurtful, which is really more upsetting to Eric than the things she says. Insults are one thing, but oblivious disrespect is a whole 'nother thing entirely. Eric can't abide it, especially from his mama.

He finishes his Coke and burps loud enough to make Lardo proud, glancing around quickly to see if anyone's heard it. He feels like crushing the can in his fist in honor of Ransom and Holster but decides against it; with his luck he'd slice his hand open and from there it's a one-way ticket to tetanus. He goes inside and drops the can in the recycle bin and pauses at the kitchen counter to stretch, raising his leg behind him until he's as close to a decent arabesque as he's going to get.

"Wow!" Chowder appears in the doorway. Eric looks over and grins. "That's awesome, Bitty!"

"Thanks," says Eric, dropping his leg to the floor and running in place for a moment. "I took three years of ballet while I was still competing."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Almost every figure skater takes dance lessons. Ballet teaches you really good discipline and it's all smooth and graceful lines. I liked using it in my routines. I miss it," he adds softly.

"It's really cool." says Chowder. "Can you still dance like that?"

"Some! I'll show you sometime." Eric is always happy to show off his dance skills, whether it's with Lardo at a club or in the living room with tinny Puccini playing on his phone. And Chowder is a great, enthusiastic audience. He's already bouncing up and down in excitement, and Eric feels the last of the tension in his shoulders melt away.

He claps his hands. "Well!" he says. "Let's finish up before everyone else gets here."

\--

He tells Jack about it later during their Skype date (the fact that they'd seen each other just a few hours ago is not important).

"I keep telling myself I won't get so worked up about it," he says, twisting his earbud cord in his hands. "I know she's not really gonna get it, probably not ever. And I really- I don't think Coach is ever gonna talk to me again."

"I wish I could be there with you," says Jack. Eric can tell he's lying down - on his side of the bed even though Eric's not there, Lord bless this boy - and immediately misses curling up next to him. "If I didn't have to be at-"

"Honey, no." Eric shakes his head. "It's enough that I'm talking to you about it. That always helps. I don't always need you to run to my side whenever the going gets rough."

They are comfortably silent for a moment, just looking at each other and existing together. Then Jack says, "Do you want me to call her?"

Eric bursts out laughing. "Lord, I do _not_ want to know how that would go over. I honestly can't tell if she's mad at you or jealous of me."

"That's unsettling," says Jack, but he's smiling. "Okay, maybe not a good idea, but at least it made you laugh."

"You're good at that," says Eric. He sits up a little straighter and breathes, in and out, a couple of times. "So listen, I am apparently a _kept man_ now, so let's talk Le Creuset."

"Is that a car?"

Eric shakes his head.

\--

After Jack goes to sleep Eric goes back downstairs. Nursey has arrived and Eric can hear territory negotiations so he quickly escapes into the kitchen. He doesn't necessarily want to make anything, but the kitchen is where he always feels the calmest, so he grabs a Nanaimo bar he'd stashed in the back of the fridge, pours himself a glass of milk, and sits down at the table. He pokes at his phone without purpose, scrolling through Twitter, retweeting here and there. He doesn't have the energy for Tumblr.

"Oh." Eric looks up and Chowder's standing in the doorway again. "Sorry Bitty, I just wanted a soda."

"Please, don't let me stop you," says Eric. "What are you up to?"

Chowder opens a Coke and hovers. "Was talking to Caity and then I got thirsty so I came down here. And now I'm talking to you!" He grins.

"Do you want some of this?" Eric indicates the bar on the plate, with only one bite taken out of it. "It's the last one and I can't remember if you got any."

"Dex gaves me a bite of his." Chowder gets a fork and sits across from Eric. "Um, can I ask you something, Bitty?"

Eric tilts his head quizzically. He probably looks like a golden retriever.

Chowder looks uneasy as he takes a bite. "It's just- You're always making something when you're in the kitchen, but right now you're sitting here alone and- Um. Are you okay?"

There's something about Chowder, the sweetest boy on the planet, asking him if he's okay that makes Eric exhale so hard that he feels boneless and on the verge of tears. "I'm okay," he says. "Sometimes. And sometimes I'm not."

"Oh," says Chowder. "Is it because of what happened at the Stanley Cup?"

Eric looks up at him and nods. "Kind of?"

"I thought it was so cool what you guys did." Chowder looks lit up from the inside. "You got to be there when Jack won the Cup! And then you guys kissed! Caity thought it was romantic. It must have felt so great!"

"It was," says Eric, nodding and smiling to himself. "It was really great, Chowder."

"I know people are being jerks," says Chowder. "I know they're saying dumb stuff about you and Jack. I read some stuff on the internet until Nursey made me put my laptop away. But you have us, you know that, right Bitty?" Chowder gives Eric the most intense look he's ever seen from him outside the net. "You were texting your mom before, right? When we were making the thingy bars?"

Eric nods.

"She made you mad, I could tell, but you didn't say anything about it, you just kept teaching me to make the thingy bars. If it'd been me and my mom was being mean, I probably would have cried." Chowder ducks his head. "I think you're really strong, Bitty. You used to be afraid of checking and now you're our captain, and you kissed your boyfriend on TV, and you taught me how to make a pumpkin pie. I think you're one of the best people I know."

Eric's opening crying by the time Chowder stops talking, and he's out of his chair with his arms flung around Chowder's shoulders. "I knew I adopted you for a good reason," he says, hoping he's not getting tears all over Chowder's neck. "Thank you, Chris.  _Thank you_."

"Wow," says Chowder, scooting over a little in his chair so that he can hug Eric back. "You never call me by my name."

"You'll always be my favorite frog, but don't tell anyone," says Eric, pulling away. He kisses Chowder's forehead. "Go get Dex and Nursey, throw things at them if you have to. Let's drink margaritas and play Overwatch."

"Yeah!" Chowder scampers out of the kitchen. "Dibs on Sombra!"

Eric clears away the plate and their drinks. He gets out his phone.

**Mama: i'm sorry.**

 

**Me: I know.**

\--

Eric continues to have stilted, uncomfortable conversations with his mother that upset him to the point where even stress-baking isn't enough. When that happens he asks for ice time and puts on his figure skates and throws himself into twirls and jumps and spins, focusing on speed and endurance and wearing himself out until he's too tired to care. When he's done he's sore and exhilarated, and all of this real life nonsense is the furthest thing from his mind.

He understands Jack even better, now.

Thanksgiving comes and Eric is grateful to have a dinner to plan. Everyone is otherwise engaged for actual Thanksgiving - Eric and Jack go to the movies and get Five Guys, and in between they fool around, naked and laughing - so Hausgiving takes place the first day Jack doesn't have a game, at his place this year. Eric throws himself into planning the menu, testing sauces and seasonings until he is completely satisfied - which he isn't, of course.

Eric's taking a pumpkin pie out of the oven when he hears movement behind him. "Hey?" He turns and sees a very sleepy, very rumpled Jack hovering by the counter. He puts down the pie and takes off the oven mitts. "What are you doing up?"

"You're not there," says Jack. He comes over and wraps his arms around Eric. "Stop panicking. Everything's going to be good. Everything you make is good."

Eric squirms. "I just need to-" he says, but Jack just squeezes him tighter.

"Come to bed? Yes, I agree."

"Jack."

Jack pulls back and takes Eric by the shoulders. Eric looks up at him, curious. "I know it's hard spending Thanksgiving away from your mom and dad," he says. "But you're still spending Thanksgiving with your family. You don't need to impress anyone. They aren't going to love you any less if you change a recipe or don't make a specific kind of pie."

Eric makes a face. "You know how Ransom gets about blackberry."

Jack laughs. "Come on, Bits," he says. "Come to bed."

Eric sighs and follows him. "What time is it, anyway?"

"After three." Jack closes the door and strips Eric out of his clothes with military precision. "You've been baking for almost eighteen hours."

"Holy smokes," says Eric, staring at Jack. "You should have said something! Stopped me!

"Telling you not to bake when you're stressed is cruel," says Jack. He gets into bed and holds his arms open in invitation. Eric immediately climbs into bed and scoots in close. "I would rather have you baking than bouncing off the walls, or saying things you'll regret to the internet, or crying."

"I don't-"

"You do." Jack kisses his chin. "I know you do."

Eric is quiet, embarrassed. Jack's not wrong. When Eric is alone he lets himself think of his mother and how everything is so _different_ now, and when he cries - usually in the shower - he thinks about the days when they would sit on the front porch eating popsicles, or when they'd go roller skating in the driveway, or eating animal cookies and watching Sesame Street together. She's been his best friend for so long, and now it's all cracked around the edges - every time they talk the cracks get a little bigger. Eric had hoped that by staying in touch with her it would get better, it would all work itself out. She'd warm up to the idea and they'd go right back to swapping recipes and sharing a Pinterest board, only this time Eric would also talk to her about boys.

(That part especially is not looking too likely at this point.)

"Sorry."

"No, okay. Eric, look at me."

Eric looks up. "I know you're all het up when you use my real name."

Jack doesn't smile. "You've got to stop apologizing."

"I'm sorry that you have to hear it." Eric curls up. "You should be having the time of your life."

"I am. I'm spending it with you." Jack kisses the top of his head. "It's gonna take a while, Bud. You can't just undo decades of cultural and theological programming overnight."

"Wouldn't it be great if you could?" Eric hums. His phone chirps from the bedside table and Eric groans. "Do _you_ have a sixth sense when your parents are going to text you? Because I can tell you without even looking that it's her."

Jack frowns. "You used to smile whenever your mother texted you," he says. He sounds sad. "I hate that they took that from you."

"Me too," says Eric. He sighs heavily and reaches over to grab his phone. He looks and rolls his eyes, holding the screen up so that Jack can see.

**Mama: moomaw said she missed you.**

"Do you see this?" Eric shakes the phone a little. "She knows exactly how to cut to make it bleed the most. Moomaw is my Achilles heel, and Mama thinks that if she implies I made her sad, I'll hop right on a plane back to Georgia and forget you even exist."

"Mm." Jack shakes his head. "You should just call her."

"Mama?"

"Moomaw."

Eric laughs delightedly. "Say it again. Say _Moomaw_ again."

"Shut up," says Jack, bopping Eric in the nose. "And yes, call her. Just call her and talk to her. If she's upset maybe you can calm her down. Tell her your side."

"She is 82 years old. Chances she's gonna be on the side of a lil' gay boy are slim to none, sweetpea."

"You don't know that." Jack shrugs. "You've told me a lot about her. It's worth a shot?"

Eric nibbles on his thumbnail. "Yeah, okay," he says. "I mean, you told me to call Mama and that didn't go well, but was a good idea to get it over with. I mean, who knows what they're telling her down there."

"Exactly," says Jack, yawning. "Okay, sleep."

They settle in, Eric's head on Jack's chest. "Jack?"

"Yeah?"

Eric smiles and traces circles on Jack's skin. "I like us," he says. "I like us a lot."

"That's good." Jack sounds thirty seconds from sleep. "I like us, too."

"Goodnight, darlin'."

"Night, Bits."

\--

Eric doesn't go to sleep. He watches Jack sleep for a few minutes, or rather his profile in the dim light, and then he picks up his phone.

**Me: Did you tell her happy Thanksgiving for me?**

 

**Mama: I did. she wondered why you didn't come home.**

 

**Me: did you tell her why?**

 

**Mama: no, I don't think she could take it.**

Eric drops his phone in his lap and runs his hands over his face a few times before picking it back up again.

**Me: What did you tell her then?**

 

**Mama: i said you had hockey stuff to do**

Eric shakes his head. He looks over at Jack, who has rolled onto his side, toward Eric. He's snoring faintly and drooling a little, and it's the most endearing damn thing Eric has ever seen. He takes a picture and sets it to be Jack's contact photo.

**Mama: where are you?**

 

**Me: In bed. I told you, we're having dinner at Jack's. Everyone's getting here tomorrow.**

 

**Mama: what did you do on the actual day?**

 

**Me: We went to see Moana and then we got burgers.**

 

**Mama: that doesn't sound very festive.**

 

**Me: Being in New England for the holidays is festive enough.**

 

**Mama: does that mean you're not coming home for Christmas???**

There's only one word Eric can think of for this moment: _fuck_.

**Me: Was thinking about staying up here. Jack's parents want us to come up to Montreal.**

There's such a long pause that he thinks his mother's finally gone to sleep. He's about to set his phone aside and attempt to do the same thing when it buzzes again.

**Mama: are we that bad that you have to go to Canada to get away from us?**

Eric looks at the text until the words become nonsense. He doesn't know how to respond - 'yes' is too cruel, but 'no' isn't entirely accurate and if he's honest with himself he'd really would rather spend the holidays around people who love him for who he is and who don't lament who he was, who won't parade him in front of endless, well-meaning relatives who 'only have his best interests in mind'.

**Me: Sometimes.**

**Me: Not all the time**

**Me: But you keep acting like this is something I am doing to you on purpose**

 

**Mama: it's hard not to think so. you were fine until you went up north**

 

**Me: I was not fine. I was scared and sad and locked in closets and people would write stuff like fag on my locker in sharpie**

**Me: I wasn't fine.**

**Me: I wasn't fine until I GOT here**

His eyes are getting heavy, it's almost four. He's going to be dead on his feet tomorrow if he doesn't get at least a couple of hours.

**Me: I need to sleep. I don't even know what you're doing up**

 

**Mama: couldn't sleep either**

 

**Me: Sorry**

**Me: Hope you get some eventually**

**Me: Goodnight Mama**

 

**Mama: goodnight dicky i love you**

He's exhausted when he puts the phone on the nightstand. Where he'd been wide awake there is now a bone-deep weariness that draws him down against Jack, settling in and closing his eyes.

The phone buzzes a few more times, but Eric is already asleep.

\--

Eric calls Moomaw on Sunday. Everyone's still at Jack's place, either drinking whiskey ( _Look at us GQ motherfuckers,_ says Shitty, three glasses in) and playing Overwatch in the living room or smoking up on the balcony. Eric takes the opportunity to slip into the bedroom and shut the door. He paces around the room for a minute before he nods to himself and presses CALL.

She picks up on the second ring. "Is that Dicky?"

"Hi, Moomaw!" Her voice always puts him in a good mood. "Happy Thanksgiving!"

"Why hello, honey. I sure missed you!" He can tell Moomaw is outside, there's traffic noise and what sounds like a lawnmower in the background. "Let me go in the house so I can hear you better."

"There," she says, a moment later. It's much quieter wherever she is now - probably the front parlor where her TV is. "Now, what kept my lil' Dicky-bird from comin' home this year?" He can hear the smile in her voice. "Your mama said hockey but I think maybe you're hidin' a girlfriend up there."

Eric winces. "Boyfriend," he says, shutting his eyes tight.

"Oh." She doesn't miss a beat. "Well, what's his name?"

"Jack?" He blinks open his eyes. "His name's Jack. He plays hockey, too."

"Is that handsome Jack? The one who was down here last summer?"

"Yes ma'am," says Eric. "We were just gettin' together back then."

"Well, then." Moomaw huffs. "Explains a lot, don't it. Why you never brought any girls home."

Eric can feel his body going limp with relief. He sits hard on the bed. "Moomaw, are you okay?"

"What? Atlanta's not gonna burn again if you got a boyfriend. I think we'll be just fine."

Eric's so dazed he can only hum along as Moomaw immediately abandons the subject and starts raving about her bees ("They're comin' along good, Dicky. Maybe other people's bees are all dyin' but mine are full of piss and vinegar and rarin' to go and the world's gonna be fine with my bees around.") and whether or not Mr. Covington down the street is filching tomatoes from her garden.

"I'm gonna shoot him, I swear."

Eric laughs. "You're not gonna shoot him, Moomaw."

"You watch me. Got my great-grandaddy's Model 1861, don't think that thing can't still blast someone to bits."

Eric's bent over, giggling uncontrollably. "Moomaw- Moo- Oh my Lord, you're a crazy woman."

"My tomatoes are _very important_ , Dicky!"

Much to Eric's delight they talk for over an hour, during which she regales him with the latest Bittle drama. "-and Lizzy, that girl ain't got the sense God gave an onion, I swear."

Eric laughs. "Last I heard she was pregnant again. Sorry I missed out on that nonsense!"

"The daddy's in jail, this time. Her mama is fit to be tied." Moomaw clears her throat. "Now listen, honey." She sounds the same kind of serious she'd been when she'd taught him about oven safety. "Don't let your mama and daddy give you any shit. Your mama was actin' real strange like she had some big secret that she was _protectin'_ us all from. Now I know what it was and good Lord, I love her but that girl can make a mountain out of a molehill." She sniffs. "It's just rude."

"She didn't want to tell you," he says. He gets up and starts twirling in place. He might be a little giddy, he can't help it. He did _not_ expect this reaction from his dear old lifelong Republican Moomaw. "She thought you'd be upset."

"Tsk, I'm more upset that you didn't come down and bring him with you! He's real pretty."

"What."

She laughs. "I'm eighty-five, not dead," she says, and Eric's _howling_.

"Okay," he wheezes. "Okay, I gotta- I gotta go." He wipes his eyes and coughs. "My friends are here and it's almost dinnertime and I should find Jack-"

"You go on, sweetpea," she says softly. "Don't be a stranger, now. Call your ol' Moomaw sometimes, tell her all about Handsome Jack. Put him on the phone so we can flirt proper."

"I will," he promises, giggling uncontrollably. He can't _wait_ to relay this to Jack. "I promise."

After they hang up he immediately texts his mother, not caring if it's petty. He's _earned_ petty.

**Me: I talked to Moomaw and she wants me to bring Jack back for a visit.**

**Me: Your move.**

\--

Christmas comes in the form of a blizzard. Fortunately it hits the day after Eric and Jack have arrived at Jack's parents' house, unfortunately it means that the food they have will have to last until the roads are cleared, which could be a while.

"I've never _seen_ this much snow," says Eric, looking out of the living room window. Jack's parents have a big lawn and it looks like a great white sea. "That's got to be waist-deep!"

"We won't be letting you out in it," says Jack. "We'll never find you again."

Eric smacks him in the chest. "Rude."

"Does seem like a lot," says Bob, coming up behind them. He rests a hand on Eric's shoulder and the weight of it is so reassuring that Eric has to fight the urge to lean in. Bob and Alicia have been doing a lot of that - comforting touches, subtle but meaningful. Jack's told them everything about Eric's parents, so they must be trying to make him feel better. Eric smiles to himself. _It's working_.

"Oooh." Alicia comes over as well to look. "Well, shit."

Eric laughs. "Well shit, exactly."

"Okay, then." Alicia steers Eric into the kitchen. "I am going to borrow you and see if we can't figure out meals for a few days, until the roads are clear."

"I can do that." Eric opens the fridge and peers inside. There's tons of eggs, butter, milk, and the vegetable drawer looks full. Pleased, he closes the fridge and goes for the pantry, which makes him sigh in happiness - beans, dried pasta, rice. "Oh, we're _fine_ ," he says. "We can do a lot with what we have."

Alicia claps her hands. "Great! We won't have to eat each other."

"Didn't you eat someone in a movie?" Jack appears and gets a seltzer from the fridge. "Some horror thing?"

"Oh, yeah!" Alicia giggles. "I did eat someone. It was great. I was _covered_ in fake blood for hours. I think I have photos. I should tweet them!"

"On Halloween," says Eric. "For maximum scary." He's already thinking about dinner. He checks the freezer. "Oo, salmon!"

Dinner that night is garlic butter fish and veggies. They eat in the den, ostensibly watching a repeat of the Hamilton documentary but mostly just talking. "Eric," says Alicia. She laughs. "I still feel like I should call you 'Bits' since that's how Jack talks about you. A lot." She elbows him. "A _lot_."

"Eric's fine!" he says. "Though it's funny, you'll be the only people calling me that. Even my family doesn't."

Jack smirks. "Dicky." Eric points a fork at him.

"You can feed yourself from now on," he says. Bob and Alicia are laughing, and Eric's just about to get up and take his plate to the kitchen when his phone starts buzzing. He takes it out and looks at it and makes a face. "Mama."

"You don't have to answer," says Jack. "If you think it'll put you in a bad mood."

Eric shakes his head. "I'm getting better about that," he says. He glances at all of their worried faces. "It'll be fine."

He picks up once he's in the kitchen. "Hi, Mama."

"Hi, Dicky," she says. "I just looked at the weather in Montreal. Y'all okay up there?"

"Fine," says Eric. She always checks the weather wherever he happens to be. It's her own way of staying connected, and there's a tiny bloom of warmth in Eric's chest that she's still doing it. "Lots of snow, but I think we have enough food to last until they plow the roads."

"What are y'all gonna do?"

Eric rinses his plate and puts it in the dishwasher. He peeks in the fridge and finds a ginger ale, opening and taking a long drink. "Not sure what we're doing tonight. Alicia has some board games she says Bob won't play with her because she's too competitive. I'm a little scared but it could be fun."

"I can't believe you're at their house!" she says. Eric shuts his eyes.

"It's just a house," he says. He doesn't mention that it's 11,000 square feet of marble floors in the foyer and six bedrooms and an honest-to-Betsy gym in the basement - right next to the movie theater. If he told her all that he'd never hear the end of it. "Nothin' special."

"Now I know you're lying, 'cause I looked up their house on Google and there's a big article about it in _Vanity Fair_ . Is there _really_ a movie theater?"

Eric groans and gives up. "Yes, and there's an ice rink, too."

"Goodness gracious." His mother sounds impressed. "Well, I suppose if this had to happen, at least you found a good one."

He knows by now that knee-jerk reactions to the stuff she says gets them nowhere, so now he's started reciting apple pie ingredients in his head before responding to her textbook Southern passive-aggressiveness. He still doesn't think she's being antagonistic on purpose, but sometimes he wonders. "They're good people," he says. "I don't care about their bank accounts."

She clucks her tongue. "I just think it's good that you get to go to a nice house for Christmas." The unspoken implication that he doesn't think their house is a _nice house_ is loud and clear. "What are y'all doing for the holidays, then?"

Eric leans against the counter. Bob comes in and mimes that he's getting a beer from the fridge. Eric smiles at him.

"If this blizzard keeps up, probably not much. We have a tree and presents, at least. And I can make Christmas dinner out of what we've got. We'll probably play games and build snowmen." Bob offers him what Eric suspects is a supportive fist-bump, which he returns before Bob goes back to the den. "If the snow stops we were gonna open presents and then maybe see the movie about the African-American ladies at NASA? And then I think there's a party at Si- uh, one of their friends' places." Best not open that can of worms. "It'll be fun."

"Well, okay," is all she says. He can hear pots and pans clanging and the hiss of water. Inspired, he starts tidying the kitchen both because it needs it after dinner prep, and also to give his hands something to do. And for a little while it feels like a normal phone call between him and his mother, with her in her kitchen and him in the Haus, both of them moving in sync and communicating on a wavelength that Eric's dad tells other people is 'some kinda hoodoo'. They talk about Eric's classes and the team's season so far, and they even talk a little about the Falconers.

"I'm glad they won against the Aces," she says. "From what you said about Kent Parson I don't think he's a very nice boy."

Eric chuckles. "He's fine, I guess. He was mean to Jack but Jack said they were pretty mean to each other, and they have a lot of talkin' to do."

"Do they talk much?"

"More now than they did a year ago." Eric pulls out the apple cranberry crisp he'd made that afternoon. "They're never gonna be as close as they were but they're still close in a different way. It's good."

"Did they…"

"Not my story to tell," says Eric in a crisp voice that he hopes invites no argument. "Not your business."

"Honey, don't get all worked up," she snaps. "I was just _asking_."

"You're nosy," he says. "And you're picking a fight again."

"I'm not-" She makes a frustrated sound and he can picture her throwing her hands in the air, maybe a dish towel too. "Honey, I'm _trying_ , okay? First you tell me you're gay - no, I had to see on _television_ and have all the neighbors and the girls at work ask me if that was Dicky kissin' a boy in front of God an' everybody - and you get all mad at me 'cause you think I don't care about you anymore. So I tell you I do and I'm worried about you and now you're givin' me grief 'cause you say I'm worryin' too much!

You listen now, I like Jack but he's so _different_ from us, honey. He's rich and famous and you're a good boy from Georgia. It was fine when he was just your friend but now it's _different_ and I just don't want you gettin' hurt. Dicky, what if you did all this and it doesn't work out with Jack? You can't come back from it."

Eric casts his eyes toward the ceiling as he pulls four plates from the cupboard and tries to remember where the silverware is. He tries all the drawers - there are _so many drawers_ \- before it ends up being the one by the fridge. He cuts four pieces and if he stabs them with the forks a bit more forcefully than necessary, no one needs to know.

"Mama, even if Jack and I did break up I'm not gonna just _come back_ from being gay. I'm gay whether or not I'm datin' Jack." He knows it's bad manners not to wait for everyone but after he drops a heaping spoonful of whipped cream on his crisp he digs right in. It tastes good of course, and that is a comfort. "And first you didn't want us together and now you're tryin' to keep me from gettin' dumped. And why am I the one getting dumped? Why don't I have any agency, here?"

He knows he must sound a little loud and probably crazed when Alicia appears in the doorway with a wrinkle of concern between her perfectly manicured brows. Eric points at his phone and mouths _sorry_ and tries to mime that he'll keep his voice down. She shakes her head and comes over and puts an arm around him and gives him a squeeze. He smiles and leans in against her side.

"Don't you put words in my mouth!" snaps his mother. "You heard me, I am worried about you and famous people live in a different kinda world than people like you an' me. I don't want you gettin' all caught up in that nonsense."

Eric knows Alicia can hear her, so he looks over at her and shakes his head. Alicia puts a hand over her mouth and Eric can tell from her eyes that she's trying not to laugh. Eric has complicated feelings about someone laughing at his mama, but maybe right now it's okay to put those feelings on pause for a moment. She _is_ being ridiculous.

"Mama," he says, but she's too fast for him.

"No, you don't get to _Mama_ me. I am sick to death of this bad blood goin' on. You won't even come _home_." She's close to crying, he can tell, and there's a knot forming in his own throat.

"I just called to say Merry Christmas," she says. She sounds tired. "I didn't want us to get mad at each other again."

"I know," he says. "But you said a lot of other stuff, and you really need to stop, Mama." He looks up at Alicia. All of the mirth has gone from her face. She spots the crisp and pulls a plate over to her, gesturing for Eric to sit with her at the island. She completely covers her piece in whipped cream, tapping a dot of it on the end of Eric's nose. He smiles and thumbs it off. "I know you're workin' stuff out but stop takin' it out on me and Jack."

"...okay," she says, soft like a prayer. "Okay, Dicky.."

"And mean it," he adds. "Don't just do it because you think it gets you off the hook. Do it because you want me in your life and if that includes Jack you need to _accept it_ and treat him like any girlfriend I woulda brought home."

"Okay." His mother's voice is a little stronger now. "Dicky, I just- I hate you being mad at me. I hate that I _made_ you mad at me. I hate that you were scared to tell me, 'cause that's all my fault."

"Yeah, kinda," he says. "Listen, Mama - where's Coach? Or do I even _have_ a daddy anymore?"

His mother is quiet for a long moment. "Baby, I think he's gonna take a little more time to come around," she says. Her tone is resigned. "You know how he is."

"Yeah, I know how he is." He must sound bitter because Alicia heaps more whipped cream on his place and makes a _would you chow down already_ gesture. He nods and takes a bite, and it's so good he's grinning in spite of the touchy subject of his dad. "Tell him Merry Christmas for me?"

"Yep," says his mother. He wonders if she actually will or if he's a taboo subject in the house, now. "Moomaw's comin' over tomorrow. Anything you wanna say to her?"

Eric smiles a little at the mention of Moomaw. "Tell her I'll call her," he says. "Though she only ever wants to talk to Jack anymore."

"She likes his accent," says his mother. "And his butt," she adds in a whisper. Eric finds himself spitting whipped cream into his hand. He gets up for a paper towel, grinning at Alicia's look of confusion. _I'll tell you later_ , he mouths at her.

"Merry Christmas, Mama," he says into the phone.

"You too, Dicky."

After they hang up Eric sits back down and digs back into his crisp. Alicia's watching him.

"Well," she says. "That was a roller coaster ride from start to finish. I can't imagine how the rest of that call went."

"It's not always like that," says Eric. "A lot of the time we manage just fine, but once in a while she gets a bee in her bonnet about something and it ends up turning into a _thing_."

"Bob's mother is _just like her_ ," says Alicia. "She _hates_ me."

"No!"

Alicia nods. "Bob had a girlfriend before me, Brigitte. I never met her, but from what his mother says the sun shines out of her ass like beams of light from heaven." Eric sputters into his hand again. This time he brings the paper towels with him before he sits down. "I'm a homewrecker, apparently - despite the fact that Bob and I met over a year after he and Brigitte broke up. His mother never got over it, and when I showed up on the scene I was doomed from the start."

Eric shakes his head. "I can't imagine anyone hating you," he says. Alicia laughs.

"Harvey Weinstein hates me," she says. "He knows why." She finishes off her piece of crisp and once Eric takes his last bite she whisks their plates into the dishwasher, picking up the other two. "I'd love to eat these but I don't want to listen to whining all night. Have you experienced Jack whining, yet?"

"Lord, yes. He's the most dramatic thing this side of Miss Scarlett." Eric pretends to feel faint. "Oh no, I believe I have the vapors!" She laughs. "I need a fake Oscar for the next time he hoists his skirts and flounces from the parlor over something silly."

Alicia's eyes get wide and she bounces a little. "I have an Oscar you could borrow!" she says.

Eric stares at her.

"What?" she asks, innocently, but he can see the mischief in her eyes.

"You are _too much_ ," says Eric, taking her by the wrist and tugging her back to the den.

"Oh no," he says, when they walk in on Jack and his dad standing by the entertainment center with controllers in their hands. "You have a PS4."

"Listen," says Bob. "If I want to play videogames with my only son, I am well within my rights as red-blooded son of Canada."

Alicia sniffs. "Dessert first," she says, waving the plates under their noses. Jack and his dad exchange a silent look.

"Dessert first," says Bob, dropping the controller and making grabby hands at the plate.

\--

"Oh, Eric? What did your mom say that made you laugh like that?"

"My grandmother likes Jack's butt, apparently."

Jack immediately veers off Rainbow Road and Bob cheers in triumph.

\--

After an hour of listening to Jack and his dad curse in increasingly loud Quebecois, Alicia bids them goodnight. She kisses Eric on the temple and whispers _you're amazing_ in his ear before she goes upstairs. Jack and his dad continue to yell at each other, and to Eric it's just like the Haus, with Ransom and Shitty bellowing their way through a Portal 2 co-op run. Eric settles in with his phone, flicking through Tumblr and texting with Lardo.

His phone buzzes. He pauses sending Lardo a crying Jordan video and reads the notification.

**Mama: try this out on Jack**

**Mama: <tourtiererecipe.pdf>**

Eric blinks. He doesn't have the heart to tell her he's already got Jack's grandmother's tourtière recipe - he's making it tomorrow, actually - but the gesture is noted and appreciated nonetheless. He can tell a white flag when he sees one.

**Me: Thanks Mama**

 

**Mama: I saw it on anthony bourdain. He went to montreal**

 

**Me: I've never actually had it here.**

 

**Mama: probably wouldn't be as good as if you made it**

For some reason _that_ makes him tear up a little.

**Me: Hush Mama**

 

**Mama: I won't hush**

 

**Mama: you tell jack and his folks merry Christmas from us ok?**

 

**Me: I will**

"Mama says Merry Christmas," he says aloud. Neither Jack nor his dad respond, but at least he can say he tried. "I think I'm gonna go to bed."

"Mmhm," says Jack, not looking away from the TV. "Be in soon."

Eric snorts. "Sure," he says, knowing better. He sits up and pecks Jack's cheek before sliding off the couch and going upstairs. He's still a little unsure of navigating his way around to Jack's room. He knows Bob and Alicia's room is at the end of the hall with the double doors, but Jack's room is at the other end and Eric can never remember if it's left or right. This time he gets it right on the first try and breathes a sigh of relief as he moves around the room, getting ready for bed.

Jack appears almost two hours later. Eric's not asleep yet, he's playing Stardew Valley and having a GIF war with Holster in the group chat, which has Shitty all-capsing at them to stop spamming his notifications. Eric looks up when the door opens. "There you are," he says.

"Sorry," says Jack. He pulls his t-shirt off over his head and Eric feels reality bend a little the way it usually does when he sees half-naked Jack. "We get carried away."

"I noticed." Eric sets his laptop aside as Jack sheds his pants and goes to brush his teeth. When he comes back he slides into bed and picks up his phone, scrolling through the group chat. "What's with the pictures?"

"GIF war," says Eric absently. "Holster. Except his are almost all 30 Rock, so I'm kinda bored."

Jack nods. "Okay," he says, deadpan, the way he does when Eric makes some reference he doesn't get. Eric laughs.

"We keep sending pictures at each other until someone yields defeat," he says. "It ain't over 'till the fat lady sings!"

Jack hums and looks through his texts. "Kent says hi," he says.

"Hi back," says Eric. "Mama sent me a tourtière recipe for you."

Jack pulls away and looks at him, eyebrows raised. "Really?" Eric tries not to swoon; he loves Jack's curious puppy face. "She did?"

"Yeah. How about that?" Eric shows him the text. "She didn't even know I'm already making it tomorrow." He yawns. "She just thought you'd like it. She says Merry Christmas, by the way."

"That's progress."

"She does like you," says Eric, looking up at him. "She was so excited to see you last summer. And there's no way she doesn't still have your jersey, even if Coach probably doesn't let her wear it around anymore."

Jack sighs. "Ah."

"Yeah," says Eric. "Also that." He strokes Jack's cheek with his fingers. "You know it doesn't matter, right? You've got me even if they're not too crazy about you right now."

"What if your dad never comes around?" asks Jack. He sounds small and worried, which Eric _hates_ to hear. "I don't want him to never talk to you again, not because of me."

Eric taps Jack's lips with the tip of his finger. "None of that," he says. "That is his problem, and if he does decide to be pigheaded about this then I don't have _any_ time for that."

"He's your dad."

"Yes he is," says Eric. "And that should be all the reason he needs to talk to me. But it isn't, and that is on him."

Jack nods. "Yeah, it is." He kisses Eric's forehead. "Still sucks, though."

"Yeah," says Eric, leaning over to turn out the light, calling the darkness down. Eric scoots closer, invading Jack's warmth. Jack's arms come up around him and both of them exhale in unison. Eric is suddenly very drowsy. He closes his eyes.

"Merry Christmas, Jack," he says before he drifts off. Jack hugs him tight.

"Merry Christmas, Bits."

\--

Samwell wins the championship.

Coach still doesn't call.

\--

Graduation comes up suddenly, seemingly without warning even though Eric's busy with finals and preparations. He gives Chowder and Dex a few more lessons in Feeding Yourself 101 and Do Not Buy Dinner At Cumbie's while figuring out what kitchen supplies he's taking with him and what gets left behind. Lord knows these boys - and Ford - are probably not going to use an herb-stripper. He tosses it in the 'to go' box.

(Jack had asked him to move in right before the playoffs. Eric had agreed almost immediately, not caring that everyone thinks he ought to try living alone for a while. He doesn't want to. He wants his life with Jack, and Jack seems pretty okay with it, so Eric has no reservations against loading his life into the back of the Audi and driving off into the sunset with the boy of his dreams, like a goddamn Taylor Swift video.)

After the banquet (Dex is voted captain, which has him stammering in shock and Nursey leading the team in a standing ovation), Eric kisses center ice and packs up his gear - he's donating some of it, like Jack did, but he keeps his helmet and skates and, of course, his jersey. He stares at his cubicle for a long time, running his thumb over the BITTLE nameplate. In a few days they'll take it off and put a new name there, and then Eric will be well and truly gone from Samwell University.

"Not really," says Nursey when Eric mentions it in the kitchen while sorting silverware. "Your oven's still here."

"Well, it's the Haus's oven."

"Nah." Nursey's eating frozen edamame and trying to chuck the pods into the trash from across the room. He's about 15% successful, and Eric hopes he plans on sweeping the floor later. "It's your oven. Jack bought it for you in some weird courtship… thing. It'll always be known as Bitty's Oven." He slides out of his chair and tosses the edamame bag on the table. "C'mon, gotta show you something."

He takes Bitty down to the basement and points to the wall behind the water heater. "We added it to the bylaws months ago, but I guess we forgot to tell you." Eric peers through the cobwebs.

_Don't leave Bitty's oven on or burn anything in it or leave it dirty. This applies to all future Hauskateers. So written by W. Poindexter and D. Nurse '18 3/13/17_

Eric slaps a hand over his mouth and makes a high-pitched sound. "That's- I think that's the sweetest graduation present anyone could get me."

Nursey laughs. "Says the guy dating a millionaire. Fuck ovens, he's gonna buy you an island or something."

"Oh, stop."

The Falconers get knocked out of the playoffs by Tampa Bay in May, which means Jack is there when Eric walks. He finds Jack afterward and flings his arms around him, letting Jack spin him around and around before he sets him down on the grass and kisses him.

"You did it," says Jack, smiling at Eric with so much love that Eric feels weak in the knees. He's about to say something _incredibly_ stupid when he hears a throat clear behind him.

"Hi, Dicky."

Eric turns around, eyes big. There she is. She's alone. "Hi, Mama." They stand there looking at each other awkwardly. "Sorry we couldn't pick you up from the airport last night," he says. "We were out late with Lardo and the boys and, well." He gives her a sheepish look. "Couldn't really drive, after."

"It's fine," she says. Her smile seems sincere. "I was in college once too. I think I was drunk for at least three days straight when I graduated." She looks up at someone behind him. "Hi, Jack."

"Hi, Mrs. Bittle."

She shakes her head. "Suzanne," she says. "It's Suzanne, I told you."

Jack ducks his head. "Suzanne," he says, a little shyly. Eric takes his hand and squeezes. "It's great that you made it."

"Of course I did," she says, fussing at Eric's tie until he bats her hands away. "I'm not gonna miss my only baby's graduation from college."

Eric swallows hard. "Mama," he says quietly. "Where's Coach?"

Her face falls. "I tried, honey." She wilts a little around the edges. "He's so stubborn. Just like you. Just like all the Bittles, Lord bless 'em."

"It's okay," he says. Jack is the one squeezing his hand now. "I mean, I didn't really expect him to- It's fine. It's fine."

"His loss," Jack murmurs. Eric expects his mother to bristle at that, but instead she nods at him.

"Yep," she says. "My sentiments exactly."

Jack goes to find his parents - they'd insisted on coming down, which Eric had found delightfully overwhelming - and Eric takes the opportunity to herd his mother to a quiet spot by the pond.

"I know you told me you were coming," he says. "But I'm glad you're actually here."

She stares at her feet. "I would never miss this," she says. She looks up at him. "I wasn't gonna let some foolish notions keep me from my baby's big day." She picks a piece of invisible lint off the lapel of his jacket. "I know still got some stuff to work on and your daddy to straighten out - oh, _straighten out,_ haha." She gives him a shy, goofy smile. "I'm real glad I made it too, Dicky."

Eric steps forward and gives his mother a hug. It's tentative for only a second before they're both clinging to each other so tight, like they're drowning, and neither of them is crying (yet) but it's the most intense feeling of love Eric has ever had for anything or anyone. The only person who has come close - very, very close - is Jack. And Eric knows she's not perfect and she might never really be totally comfortable with any of this, but she's still in his life and she loves him and she's _trying_ , and he'll take it. They can work on the rest together, but this is a start.

They all walk around the lake together, Jack holding his hand and chatting with Eric's mother about their plans for the summer, Bob and Alicia a step behind them. Eric's only half-listening, too busy thinking about how less than a year ago he'd been sure he'd never have a relationship with his parents again. And here they are, his boyfriend and his mother chatting about what France is like in July, and Eric has just graduated college. Coach might not be here, and Eric will probably never shake that knot of disappointment lodged behind his heart, but there are so many good things he can focus on instead. Like his mother's soothing chatter, the heady scent of lakewater and and cut grass, the diploma wedged under his arm.

And, of course, the hand he's holding.

By the time they've gone into town and had dinner and everyone's gone back to their respective hotels, the shadows stretch long over the quad and the sky's turning intense shades of orange and pink. Folding chairs are put away, the stage dismantled, and the sun sets over Samwell University.

Eric and Jack go home.

-end-

 

**Author's Note:**

> Writing Suzanne was hard because I wanted to make her as sympathetic as she is frustrating. I don't know if I achieved that, but hey! I tried. :)
> 
> You can find me over at tumblr as annathaema and @annathaemah at Twitter!


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